I’ve written about the trials and tribulations of apartment living before. It seems I have an almost otherworldly ability to attract loud and unruly neighbors. First there were those who remained in a perpetual state of heat—bunny-hopping their bed across the hardwood floors at all hours. Then there was the dog that never found sure footing. I can only imagine the scratches on that floor.
But now. Now! These people make those look like saints.
I’m sure it started as a means to entertain a yippy white hairball. Most things do start with good intentions. But it quickly became the fastest way known to man to make my blood boil. I don’t care what anyone tells you: Practicing rudiments on a hard wood floor to make your dog bark at 6:00 AM is never acceptable.
On a side note: I am somewhat glad they didn’t answer the door the day I stalked upstairs in my “Hello, My Name is High Maintenance” pajama bottoms. I would have been an ugly scene.
This went on for weeks. They’d drum, the dog would bark, and I’d beat the living he@@ out of the ceiling with a broom. We became a regular jazz combo.
Then one day it stopped. For a brief moment I thought I might have actually killed the dog. But I’ve willed myself to win the lottery countless times and that’s never happened…besides, the crazy thing thought the broom was part of the game (Oh WOW! Somebody’s beating on the floor—LET’s BARK!!!)
Honestly, I’m not sure what happened. But I hope it found a new, happy home 5,600,781 miles away.
In a normal world, with normal people, that would have been the end of it. (Sigh).
No sooner than the jazz combo stopped, tryouts for the Olympic gymnastics short program began…at 3:45 AM. For the life of me, I don’t know what they’re doing but it certainly sounds like they fall a lot…and like they haven’t missed a meal in…oh, 700 years. I’m at wit’s end. And people wonder why I can’t stay up past 8 PM!
To add insult to injury, I received a call at the office earlier this week from my apartment management company. The message went like this: “Hi, this is Stacy….I was just calling to let you know there was a little flood on the 3rd floor. But don’t worry, we’ve sent a crew out to clean it up and your apartment is fine!”
First of all, I’ve lived in this apartment, and dealt with this particular management company, long enough to know it’s never that easy. The last time I got a call like that the ceiling in my bathroom had fallen in and I spent months vacuuming up plaster. That was after the mushroom crop popped up around my door frame. I’m not kidding.
So I called Stacy back and I was quickly told what I’ve believed to be the case all along: My upstairs neighbors are the root of all evil.
It seems the owner of a once-particularly yippy white fur ball had left the water in the bathtub running. BECAUSE THAT’S SUCH AN EASY THING TO DO???!!!
What kind of uncoordinated moron does that?
They didn’t just leave the bath water running. They left it running for HOURS. So many hours, in fact, that the water seeped through my ceiling and came pouring out the only hole it could find: The light in my hallway.
This might not have been a problem…except for one tiny thing: Stacy told me the damage to my apartment was limited to my bathroom. So, you can imagine my surprise when I flipped on the hall light switch–the one that goes to the same light that saw countless gallons of water flow through it–which turns out to be the same one the maintenance crew never thought to cut the electricity to.
If you’ve ever read the warning on a hairdryer that tells you not to use it in the tub…and you wondered what would actually happen if you did… Let’s just say…if you’re lucky, like me, you’ll live to blog about it another day.